your poetry isnt
defined by
how many people
like
love
repost
or comment
on it.
your poetry isnt
defined by how much
it trends.
your poetry isnt defined
by what other people
think of it.
your poetry is
only
and only
defined by the way
it makes you feel.
because thats what poetry is
isnt it?
release
of
your emotions
through words.
and what could be
more beautiful than that?
  6d She Writes
Meera
Some poets write with pen
And others with pain
Just a random thought...
Once, I read about a theme park
The roller coasters reached the bottoms of the clouds and
the speeds broke the sound barrier
Children went there daily
They laughed and they screamed and they smiled from dawn until dusk
They won prizes
and they were very much alive

I went to look up that theme park last month
The rides had all shut down
And they were completely still
Nobody had touched it in years
The streets of this city that were once full of life
Were dull and motionless
The windows were broken
The prizes were gone
The bright lights of all colors
were now empty shattered bulbs

The only emotion was empty
All of the happiness and joy
And the laughter and life
Was completely gone
I think of this often
How one place can hold such life one day
and the next be as good as dead?

I saw myself in this corpse
My body, decaying
The joy I would feel and the dancing and laughter has
now all turned to a blank slate of gray
My mind had shut it all away and I am nothing
I once held better days
But now I am a broken roller coaster
Abandoned and corroded
Because I once got so high
And I once moved so fast

But now I am frozen in my place, hidden away

Forgotten like an erased word off a paper

Once, I read about a theme park

And all I learned was I am empty too
My first poem on here.. oh dear.
Mental illness is like burning paper in the daylight.
You can hardly see the flame, but the pages disappear.
To you I will turn
Like a flower to the sun
Soaking up your light
Until my darkness is none
She Writes Oct 9
I let my fingertips
Dance in the rain
Washing away my troubles
Bit by bit
As each drop
Kisses my hand
She Writes Oct 9
I am a gentle rain
On a cool spring day

I will provide you sustenance
Help you grow

Gone as quick
And softly as I came
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